


A little bit of the unexpected

by Walkinrobe



Series: HotHouse Series [3]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Walkinrobe/pseuds/Walkinrobe
Summary: Having babies never goes to plan.Especially not in fan fiction.
Relationships: Morgan Rielly/Tessa Virtue
Series: HotHouse Series [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1781731
Comments: 15
Kudos: 88





	A little bit of the unexpected

April 2021

Tessa has no idea who came up with this crazy scheme, but she does know it was a terrible, terrible proposition. 

Who the hell thought that a small child should grow inside the body of its mother? And then exit through a teeny opening that does not usually accomodate wailing, wriggling children. 

She’s had this thought a lot over the past six weeks. On this particular occasion she is pondering her baby-exit strategy while strolling into their kitchen, just as Morgan bends down to open the dishwasher. He smiles when he sees her, beckoning her over with a tilt of his head before bestowing a soft kiss to her mouth. 

‘I’m not gonna lie,’ she sighs, ‘but I’m feeling pretty comfortable with the idea of this baby staying inside me forever’.

‘Is that so?’ Morgan asks matter-of-factly. He crinkles his brow in a way that invites her to tell him more. He’s wearing an old pair of grey pyjama pants and miss-matched socks. The pants are sitting so low on his hips she can tell he’s not wearing any underwear. He grabs a handful of clean spoons from the cutlery tray. She loves the way he puts away the dishes, neatly stacking the spoons on top of each other. It reflects his steady influence and even hand in all areas of their life. The two of them are perfectly matched in temperament and it’s make for a blissful existence.

‘Yep,’ she states, ‘it’s just so much more convenient. We don’t have to install the car seat or have our house overrun with kid stuff’.

Morgan gives a couple of slow nods then turns from the kitchen counter to face the family room. ‘About that,’ he starts, ‘I think we’ve already lost the war’. 

Her eyes follow his gaze to look out over the still-boxed stroller, piles of teeny clothes and a yet to be assembled change table/baby bath thingy.

‘Yep,’ she states again ‘our place is already a hot mess. Imagine how much worse it’ll be when the baby is born. I vote the baby just stays where it is’.

Morgan turns back to her and she gives him a cheeky wink.

‘I’m completely petrified,’ she confesses.

He gives her his kindest smile, the one that makes her feel so loved and safe. 

‘I kinda got that,’ he whispers after drawing her into his arms. ‘Tell me which part is the scariest - the being a mom part or the giving birth part?’

‘Not the mom part,’ she snaps her head up, ‘no, that part I’m so excited about. It’s the other part. The part with contractions and dilation and stretching’.

‘I can understand that,’ he rubs her back, ‘what can I do to help?’

Before she has time to answer he lifts her under her arms and deposits her on the countertop, her usual vantage point when Morgan unpacks the dishwasher. 

‘Promise me you will be there. I don’t want to do it by myself’.

‘Well TJ,’ he chuckles, ‘it is the strangest thing. I do have the desire to be there when our baby is born’.

She gives him a playful shove in the chest. He moves between her legs and places his hands on her knees. ‘But more than that, I want to be with you. You. If it is terrifying, we’ll be terrified together. And when the terror is over, the elation will come. Not gonna lie, looking forward to my wife holding my baby, that thought is so fucking incredible it’s making it hard to fall sleep at night’.

‘You’re such a big softy,’ she beams, moving forward and quickly kissing his mouth. He places his hand on the back of head, tenderly holding her still while he deepens the kiss.

‘Yeah, just don’t tell the guys at work,’ he winks back as he pulls away.

‘I think your secret is safe, no one is thinking you’re a softy when you’re putting people into headlocks and breaking hockey sticks’. This comment earns her a fond eye roll.

His passion when he plays is something she adores about him. His ability to switch into hyper-competitive mode and be so antagonistic (and hot as hell) during the game is a complete contrast with his off-ice persona. At home he’s calm, kind and placatory (but still the most attractive person she knows).

Morgan softly closes the dishwasher and looks up expectantly, ‘You ready for bed?’

She nods and wiggles to towards the edge of the countertop.

‘Wait, wait, let me help you down,’ he chastises, carefully lifting her off the counter, then gently placing her on the floor. 

‘You’re cute when you’re bossy,’ she says over her shoulder as she shuffles out of the kitchen. Her hips are so sore. Baby-baking is not for the faint-hearted.

She can hear him laugh as she rounds the corner into their bedroom before he responds with, ‘I prefer to describe my bossiness as ‘leadership skills’’.

‘Keep telling yourself that!’ she calls back.

*

Settled in their bed, Morgan has the remote in his hand and is about to fire up the first episode of Yellowstone, when he unexpectedly puts it down and turns to her.

‘What’s up?’ she asks.

‘Did we finish talking about how you’re feeling? In the kitchen? I know there is a lot more we should unpack. I don’t want you to go into labour feeling scared’.

She is scared. And of course their brief conversation in the kitchen hasn’t erased her fears. 

‘There is. I’ll definitely want to talk about it more, but not tonight. We have four weeks to go, there is time’.

‘You know I’m happy to talk about it at any stage, right?’ He looks worried, his brow is furrowed and he’s running his hand through his hair like he does when he’s nervous. 

‘Yeah,’ she rushes, taking his hand, ‘of course I know that’. She does. She’s always found Morgan easy to talk too. It was one of the things that cemented their relationship, early on when she was touring.

‘OK,’ he gives a weak smile. 

‘OK,’ she echoes.

Later, when she’s snuggled against his chest and they’re halfway through the episode Morgan taps on her arm.

‘We’ve never done that,’ he points to the TV.

‘Have desperately hot sex on the dresser? You literally banging me against the mirror?’

‘Yep’ he smirks, ‘One for the list?’

She erupts into laughter, ‘I love you’. 

‘You’re OK, I guess,’ he mocks.

*

When she wakes their bedroom is unusually dark. It’s takes her a minute to realise that’s it’s a combination of it being much earlier than she expected and a lack of light brought on by the raging storm that is buffering against the windows. 

Morgan senses her shift from his chest, briefly opens his eyes and croaks out, ‘Shit. That is some storm’.

‘Uhuh,’ she inches away, desperate for a drink of water and to stretch her legs. Her little passenger is practicing their dancing inside her belly again and her back aches. As she reaches the edge of the bed she feels Morgan grab her hand.

‘Are you having the baby?’ he calmly asks with closed eyes.

‘Definitely not. Just need a drink’.

‘Good news,’ he sighs, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders, ‘I’m not going out in that God awful weather’.

She flicks his chin as she walks past his side of the bed. Morgan pulls the covers right up over his head this time, his muffled voice escapes from under the quilt, ‘You’re very mean. Next time you’re pregnant I’m not holding your hair back while you vomit’.

‘You love me!’ she sings back.

While she’s in the bathroom she gets distracted by a little farm of grey hairs congregating by her temple. She’s been going grey for years, colouring her hair for so long she jokes she’s not even sure of it’s real colour anymore. She’s been careful to use organic, plant based hair dye while she’s been pregnant but the coverage is not as good.

‘It’s been a very long drink. What are you doing in here?’ Morgan suddenly appears in the doorway.

‘Being vain,’ she grins.

She meets him at the entrance to their en-suite and he grabs her hips, squeezing lightly. ‘Come back to bed,’ he kisses her forehead, then peers at the spot near her temple that she was examining in the mirror, ‘You and your nine grey friends’.

As she walks past him out of the bathroom she takes his elbow, leading him to the end of their bed. The wind is still howling outside and the rain is sheeting down, hitting the glass panes in irregular splatters. 

‘Sit down, please,’ she instructs.

He gives an adorably sleepy and confused look before plopping onto the bed. He folds his hands in his lap and peers at her in the early morning light.

‘Everything alright?’ he asks.

She strips off her camisole so she’s standing in nothing but her teal coloured lace boy shorts. ‘You want to muck around?’ 

Morgan gives her a shy, lazy smile.

‘Baby, you know I always wanna muck around,’ he responds with a low laugh and shake of his head. He extends out his arm and beckons her with his forefinger, ‘C’mere’.

Standing between Morgan’s legs she moves as close to him as her baby belly allows. She uses both hands cup the back of his head and he looks up into her eyes. 

‘How’d we get so lucky?’ he smiles.

She leans down to kiss his forehead, ‘Had a mutual friend,’ kisses his cheek, ‘sat next to each other at an event’, kisses his other cheek, ‘fell in love’, kisses his nose, ‘got engaged’ kisses his right eyelid, ‘you accidentally knocked me up’, kisses his left eye ‘and we got married,’ kisses his mouth - long and deep and slow. 

‘I don’t care how any of it happened,’ Morgan breathes through their kisses, momentarily stopping to grab the back of his shirt and tug it off over his head. He reaches around and palms her ass before dragging her underwear down her legs. ‘I just know this is exactly where we’re supposed to be’.

*

When she wakes the following morning it’s with a blinding headache, the kind she’s never had before. She feels like her head is going to explode, the pain is oppressive, affecting her ability to think. She’s laying on her slide, facing the windows, Morgan close behind, his arm slung low around her hip. She flicks open her eyes and tries hard to focus. It always takes her a few seconds to blink away her early-morning blurred vision, but she can make out that the sky is blue. The storm has passed. She closes her eyes again. It hurts less.

‘Hey,’ she whispers, nudging Morgan’s shin with her heel. He doesn’t respond. 

‘Hey,’ she says a little louder, fumbling to find his hand. He still doesn’t respond.

‘Morgan,’ she almost shouts, finding and squeezing his hand hard.

‘I’m here. Right here, Baby,’ he mumbles, ‘You all good?’

‘No. I feel terrible. My head is pounding. Would you mind getting me some paracetamol?’

Morgan is up and fully cognisant in an instant. She’d be impressed by his speedy ability to transition to completely awake, if it didn’t feel like a thousand mini-miners were digging in her skull. ‘Shit, OK, this isn’t like you. Can you have that while pregnant?’

‘Definitely. I think there’s some on the top shelf of the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror’.

Morgan is back in a flash and sets a glass of water plus two paracetamol on her bedside table, then encourages her to sit up.

As she lifts her head she’s overcome with two feelings she hasn’t had in a long time - nausea and nervousness. 

‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she moans.

They did a lot of this in her first trimester, so Morgan quickly reaches into the top drawer of her bedside table and passes her a vomit bag.

‘I’m worried Tess, I’m going to call Dr Bridge’s after hours number, just to see what she has to say,’ he stretches to get his phone. 

She nods, takes the paracetamol and sinks back into the pillows. Morgan steps into the hallway but she can still her hear his side of the call. 

‘Hi, it’s Morgan Rielly calling, Tessa Virtue’s husband... oh, yeah, um, fine thanks, you?... yeah, look Tess has woken with a significant headache... yes... yes, 36 and a half weeks... she is also complaining of nausea... I’m not sure... I don’t know I’ll ask... hang on...’

Morgan enters the bedroom comes around and sits next to where she’s laying. 

‘Tess, is your vision strange? Are your eyes blurry, by any chance?’ he asks.

She blinks her eyes and realises that the blurriness she experienced upon waking hasn’t dissipated like it usually does. She nods her head. Morgan sucks in his breath.

‘And how do you feel? Besides like you’re going to be sick?’

‘Like I do before a competitive skate. Really nervous, agitated, I have butterflies in my stomach and my arms are tingly’. 

Morgan stands up and runs his hand through his hair. It’s a bad sign.

‘When was the last time you felt the baby move?’

‘The baby is moving right now, they’ve been moving all night’. Without even realising it, she’s reached for Morgan and placed his hand to the side of her stomach, he smiles when he feels their baby give an almighty kick and kisses her hair.

But she’s still overwhelmed with a feeling of dread. It’s more oppressive than the headache. It’s frightening.

‘Yeah, blurry vision, nervous and jittery... ‘ Morgan speaks into the phone, ‘... no that’s not usually like her ...OK, will do.... I understand... No, I won’t ... Thanks so much. I appreciate it’. 

Morgan hangs up and sits back down on the edge of the bed, taking both her hands. He kisses her knuckles and gives her a smile. But it doesn’t light up his eyes like it usually does. 

‘How do you feel about a super quick shower with me?’ he asks. 

‘Are we having a super quick shower so we can get dressed and go to Dr Bridge’s office?’

‘No,’ Morgan shakes his head.

She feels a wave of relief.

‘She wants us to go straight to the hospital’.

The nerves and terror escalate. She feels completely out of control. Like a million things are happening around her and moving too fast, even though she’s only been awake for all of ten minutes. She’s sure if she just closed her eyes and did some deep breathing exercises she could calm herself down. She’s sure if she just let the paracetamol kick in she could beat this headache. She’s sure if she just washed her face her eyes would be back to normal. The hospital feels like a massive overreaction. For a headache?

She explains all this to Morgan.

‘Just give me half an hour, yeah?’ she puts on her media smile.

‘We don’t have half an hour,’ Morgan says in an unexpectedly stern voice, ‘Tess, you either have a fast, one minute shower with me or you get up and get your clothes on. Right now. We are leaving this house in five minutes’.

‘Oh, fuck,’ she bursts into tears.

*

Morgan is her proverbial anchor a sea of chaos. Through the unfolding drama at the hospital he never once seems anxious or panicked.

Not when they take her blood pressure and it’s 185/110.

Not when she wees on a little stick and it shows she has protein in her urine.

Not when they confirm their suspicions that she had pre-eclampsia.

Not when they insert a cannula into her wrist and pump her full of drugs.

Not when those drugs don’t work. 

Not when they decide to do an emergency c-section IMMEDIATELY or the consequences will be catastrophic.

Not when she shakily signs the paperwork before surgery. 

Not when he holds her hands through the spinal block.

And not when he sits by her head with a set of blue scrubs over his jeans and polo shirt.

But when they place a tightly wrapped 2.7 kilogram baby girl on her chest, declaring her small but perfectly healthy, he dissolves into hot sobs and she can feel the terror of the past five hours leach out of his every pore.

She’s not quite sure who to comfort first, the wailing baby who is laying on her upper chest, so close to her face that she can’t quite see her properly, the baby she wishes she could get a better look but can’t because she’s laying flat with a blood pressure cuff on one outstretched arm, the baby tightly secured with the other and she can’t quite move. Or her sweet husband who is a weeping mess and sitting slightly behind her, so she has to crick her neck to see him properly. 

‘Oh, you two make a good pair,’ she coos, ‘what am I going to do with you both? Morgan, can you scoot forward a little so I can see you better, please?’

A kind midwife guides Morgan by the shoulder and moves the stool he’s been sitting on so it’s perfectly positioned. To reposition Morgan has to momentarily stand and she can see him glance over the sheet to where the doctors are doing something that involves pushing and prodding her insides. 

‘Fuck,’ he whispers ‘I shouldn’t have looked. Should NEVER have looked. Tell me you can’t feel anything’.

‘No pain, just like someone is strumming their fingers on my belly,’ she laughs.

Morgan sits down again and he smiles. His real smile, the one that makes her heart hum. It’s like time stops in this moment. They look at each other and know - they made it, she’s here. Everyone is OK. Everthing is OK. He leans forward and gives her mouth a gentle kiss.

‘Well, look at you, Mommy,’ he shudders, fresh tears filling his eyes, ‘your first cuddle with our girl’.

‘I know, right? What a morning! I wish all my headaches ended this way,’ she winks.

‘Tess,’ he sighs, running the back of his fingers along her neck, ‘we are never doing this morning again. I don’t have the mental fortitude or emotional resilience to go through that a second time’.

The ridiculousness of it all makes her giggle. But deep down she knows there will be lots to unpack and talk through. Not to mention that the physical recovery from pre-eclampsia can be long and difficult. Right now she just wants to bask in the glow of this little life they created together.

Morgan moves his fingers over their baby girl’s pouty lips. She’s not crying anymore but making these sublime little mewls.

‘Tess, she’s so beautiful. I ...’

‘Tessa, you’re one of the lucky ones,’ the anaesthesiologist interrupts them, ‘removing the placenta has had an immediate effect on your blood pressure. It’s come down significantly but we’re still going to keep a very close eye on it. But I’m happy enough to deflate the blood pressure cuff for just a minute to give you a chance to give this baby girl a proper cuddle’.

Immediately, she feels the ache in her upper arm disappear and she underestimated the relief she would feel in being able to bend it again. Her hand comes up to her daughter’s (HER daughter’s!) face. Her skin is so perfectly soft. The baby is covered in vernix but Tessa doesn’t care. She’s feels confident enough to pick up the baby from her chest and bring her tiny face to her lips. She knows Morgan is right there if anything goes awry.

‘Hello, my littlest love,’ she speaks quietly before kissing her tiny cheek. 

She turns her head to Morgan, he’s got his phone in his hand, recording this moment. Later on, she’ll rewatch the video over and over again, reliving the magic moment when she first kissed their baby. It will never get old. 

Her heart is so full. 

‘I think it’s your turn, Daddy’.

Morgan nods with enthusiasm but stays rooted to the spot. The kind midwife appears again and deftly moves the baby from her chest to Morgan’s arms. 

‘Tessa, I’m going to reinflate that cuff now, can you stretch out your arm please?’ she hears. She nods her head in compliance and stretches out her arm but can’t tear her eyes from Morgan and their daughter. 

The baby has wriggled her hand from the blanket cocoon and is sucking on her fingers. Morgan is completely enraptured. Wiping his tears while he looks down with a smile. The sight is overwhelming and she realises she is crying too. Her gulpy breaths cause Morgan to look up. There are so many people in the room but it feels like the cheesy cliche - the three of them are the only people on Earth.

‘Hey, you did good, Baby,’ he wipes her tears. ‘I’m so proud of you’.

‘Will you let me choose her name?’ she teases.

‘I’m not that proud,’ he deadpans.

‘Don’t make me laugh, I want them to sew me up in straight lines. Would you at least consider Eleanor?’

‘That’s a new one,’ his eyes flick to hers.

‘A good one?’ she checks.

‘What do you think, baby girl? Are you an Eleanor?’ 

It’s almost comical seeing her broadchested husband cradling their tiny baby. But it’s also the best thing she’s ever seen.

Morgan looks up again and gives her a wide grin, ‘I’m not saying yes. Yet. You have me in a moment of weakness. But I do like it. A lot’.

She scrunches her face and quickly shimmies her shoulders in a cheeky display of glee.

‘What a morning,’ he echoes her words of earlier. 

‘Started off a bit shaky but it’s ended up OK, right?’ she stretches out her hand to caress his face, then caresses the hopefully-to-be-named Eleanor’s face.

‘I’d say it’s more than OK,’ he laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I’d love to know your thoughts 💕


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